Somewhere On The Horizon
by Emimawi
Summary: Somehow, Finnick Odair, self proclaimed pretty boy managed to win the Hunger Games. Somehow he managed to stay alive. Somehow, to get back home and fall in love. Somehow, he found himself falling into what could be the rebellion he's been waiting for. And he is so much more than just a puzzle piece to build a bigger picture. He's got a story, and it's just begging to be told.


**PART ONE- A SPECK OF BLUE**

The wave cascaded to the shore, racing up the beach until water was lapping up around my feet, drenching the hem of my pants. Then, rhythmically, it retreated back into the swirling sea with a crash, bringing with it thousands of tiny shells and grains of sand- only to be spit back onto the shore in an endless cycle.  
>In the rosy glow of the early morning sun, the sea looked almost golden, like molten silk with tiny little ripples dancing across the surface. I almost felt calm, breathing in and out to the rhythm of the waves. On a morning like this, such a perfect morning, it could almost feel like nothing was wrong- that it was just an ordinary day and that I was just waking up to another day, where I would head out on the boat and that nothing would go wrong.<p>

Well, I say _almost._

Perhaps it's just my imagination, but it seems like a chill has settled over District Four. The normal cold, salty breeze has died down to practically nothing, leaving a blanket of silence to settle over the houses. Even the cry of the gulls are unapparent, the only noise being the crash of the tide.  
>That's why I rose myself at the near crack of dawn, making sure not to wake my mother, and trudged down the empty town until I found myself sitting by the shoreline. Now the sun has steadily risen in the sky, bathing everything in its warm glow. The sky slowly begins to turn blue, a crisp clear blue- like the colour on the roof of the school building. Tiny puffs of white float in the sky, the horizon devoid of any other sort of distraction. It'd be perfect. But it's not.<p>

Generally, I try to swipe the thought of the Hunger Games from my mind altogether. On any other day, it would work. In Four, though we're technically a Career district, we don't usually make the Games much of a point of conversation. In fact, sometimes I feel like perhaps labelling us as 'Career' is incorrect. The main point being that nobody volunteers.  
>That can get a bit confusing, but the rules are fairly simple. Some members of our district to train for the games, and perhaps even fewer think it's an honour. But we're not stupid, like people in One or Two. We're not going to <em>willingly <em>sign up for what is most likely a death wish. If you get reaped, that's it. If you trained, good for you. If not, good luck.  
>Personally, even though I'm pretty handy with a trident, and I have quite a few skills, I doubt I would win. I've seen enough games to know that anyone under sixteen hardly wins. The odds of getting reaped are low, but the odds of surviving are even lower. That's why, even though I really shouldn't be, I'm afraid.<p>

I don't notice the footsteps until they're right behind me. Turning around, I spot a woman- my mother, walking towards me.  
>Now, you should know this- my mother is amazing. She's the one person I can really talk to, and that's not something you hear a fourteen year old male say very often. There's just something about her, her smile and the way her eyes crinkle when she does. The fact that she's managed to raise me all on her own, when my father died in the storm that hit our district when I was only two years old. She's been strong for me ever since then, managing it all on her own until I was old enough to help her. I greatly admire her.<p>

"I knew I'd find you here." She says, sitting herself down next to me on the sand. For a while neither of us say anything, instead just staring out at the waves as the lap against the shore. I long to be out on the small boat we own, not here on the shore. I want to feel the cool breeze in my hair and smell the strong salty scent of the ocean. Here, on the shore, I feel trapped- confined.  
>"You know we need to go back soon, Finnick." My mother tells me. "You need to get ready."<br>"Yeah…" I trail off, pulling my gaze away from the azure horizon. "I know. Let's go."

We slowly make our way back, passing through the town. The normal morning market is closed, it's a holiday anyways, and though we greet a few familiar faces, the town feels quite dead. My mother keeps her head high, however- smiling at the few people we do see. I, however, duck my head. I don't want to see their looks of pity on a day like this.

Our house is fairly small, with only three rooms and a bathroom. The door creaks as we enter, the familiar scent of cinnamon filling the air. I turn to my mother.  
>"Cinnamon bread?"<br>She nods, and for the first time today I crack a smile. Cinnamon bread is my mother's speciality- she makes it for breakfast when the bread we have starts to get old. Mix that with egg and milk, fry it with sugar and cinnamon- it's the best thing in the world. The spice is expensive though, so we only have it on special occasions, like Christmas and birthdays. And… reaping day.  
>I can hardly wait as my mother places the steaming dish onto my plate, placing one in hers and sitting down. I almost want to gobble down the entire thing like a ravenous animal, but I contain myself to small bites- trying to savour the deliciousness. I observe my mother as she eats her own piece. Her auburn hair is tied into a ponytail. I don't look much like her, she says I look a lot more like my father, but we have the same teal eyes that remind me of the colour of the waves under the glint of the sun. For a while, we eat in comfortable silence, before her voice breaks it.<br>"You're going to be fine, you know that… right?" she says.  
>I nod. "Still, it's hard to not be nervous."<br>"I was too. You're only fourteen though, the odds are low." She tells me. It's almost like she's trying to convince herself as much as she is trying to convince me. I stay silent about that, however. I appreciate her consolation.

We eat the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, the only sound being the clutter of wooden utensils. Finally, after we've both finished, I stand up.  
>"I've got to get ready." I say, and she nods. The reaping begins in about an hour, so I have just enough time to change and for us to make our way to the centre of town.<br>My room is messy, Mum always chastises me about it but I can never manage to keep tidy. My pyjamas lie on the floor, where I left them this morning, and the bedsheets lie in a crumpled heap on my mattress. I make no effort to clean them up, though, instead fishing around through my equally messy cupboard until I find something that is suitable enough. The shirt is a button up, white with a collar. I've never actually worn it before (like I have the need for clothes like this on a day to day basis) but the black pants I choose are the same ones I wore last year. They, thankfully, still fit me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I head out the room. I look smart, formal… and nothing like myself.  
>My mother lets out a small gasp as I exit my room.<br>"You look so handsome!" she gushes, giving me a once-over. I roll my eyes, parents are always like this. I honestly can understand where she's coming from, a whole bunch of girls are always staring at me, giggling, in school. Perhaps I am good looking, _okay sure, I know I'm good looking. _Still, I always thought it was a bit shallow to just like me because of my appearance. I could be a huge jerk. Granted, I hope I'm not- but it's a possibility.

My mother and I make our way out of the house, spotting a few other teens heading to the square as well. I'm guessing the time is around ten, they try to stagger the reapings so that people in the Capitol can watch them all consecutively. Not like it does anything to those of us in the districts.  
>Eventually I make my way to the sign in, giving my mother a wry smile. She will make her way to the roped off areas for the parents and other members of the district.<br>"I'll see you soon" I mouth, and she gives me a weak smile. My eyes still trailed on her, I barely pay any attention as the Peacekeeper pricks my finger, effectively identifying me. Before I know it, I find myself standing in a group with other males of my age- and the reaping has begun.

Lupia, our escort takes the stage. She's done in all pink this year, her hair, makeup and clothes all in a bright shade of fuchsia. Maybe in the capitol she is being (I daresay) 'fashionable'… but to me she just looks like a giant flamingo. She taps the mic with her magenta nail, before speaking in a squeaky voice about how amazing it is to be back here. I roll my eyes.  
>She then begins to list the victors for District Four. We've had nineteen so far, sixteen being alive today. The two that will be mentoring the poor souls that get chosen this year are Magdalena Martins and Aspen Laoghlen (or something like that… her last name kind of sounds like a cough). Magdalena is a 70-or so woman who is most commonly known as 'Mags'. She's got some sort of hook she's playing with, and when she's called she looks up and gives a grin which causes the wrinkles around her eyes to crinkle. Aspen is much younger, maybe around 30? She has black hair cut shortly and piercing eyes. I think she won about fifteen years ago?<p>

Lupia coughs, her pink lips turned up into a grin. As customary with the Reaping, the female is picked first. Her hand fishes around in the bowl for a while, before deciding on a crisp slip of paper at the bottom. She saunters back to the microphone, her high heels making a clicking noise as she does so.  
>"Manon Kindling." She says, and I take in a breath. I know Manon, she's in the year above me in school. Not a trained kid. The crowd slowly parts for her, and even though she appears calm I can see her knuckles turn white as she grips her white dress. Her brown hair falls into her eyes, but she manages a bleak smile. At least she's not tearing up. I feel a pang for her, I've spoken to the girl once or twice- she seems very friendly.<p>

Unfortunately, I don't have much time to think about her anymore- since Lupia has moved onto the boys. I automatically cross my fingers as she picks out one of the names as the sacrifice for this year.

I feel a jolt, the split second before she reads the name- because for some reason, deep down, I realize whose name the slip is. I don't know how, but I can feel my heart sink like a stone thrown into the waves.

"Finnick Odair."

**Hello there! If you've taken the time to read this, I thank you a lot! Finnick has always been my favourite character- so I am super excited to be writing a story for him! This story will be tracking him, from his reaping to the end of Mockingjay. It will be split into three parts, his games, what happens to him afterwards and the third part being the events in the canon series. I hope that I'll stay committed to this until the bitter end, and I hope you'll follow me through this journey! Thank you for reading this far, and I hope to see you soon.**

**-Emimawi.**


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